


Only love can hurt like this

by From_Dusk_to_Dawn



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: 2x22, F/F, a little angsty sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:20:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/From_Dusk_to_Dawn/pseuds/From_Dusk_to_Dawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Carmilla was just laughing it up with Mattie, getting blood drunk and trashing the place, it was easy not to care.  It was easy to get angry.  She could be self-righteous and indignant and even hate her a little.  It was all a lie. </p>
<p>Post 2x22 tag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only love can hurt like this

**Author's Note:**

> Post 2-22. Title from Paloma Faith song of the same name. This song gives me so many Hollstein feels.

 

Quiet.

 

Whereas the last few hours had been filled with nothing but a flurry of motion, Laura’s final proclamation had left a heavy stillness to fill the air.  Carmilla and Laf both shifted, in an awkward semi-dance to see who might get to take care of Laura first, but Laura shook her head at both of them, silently letting them know she needed her space.  Mercifully, they had both backed off.

 

Laura gave herself a few more moments to finish her breakdown in silence, stray tears leaking from her eyes without her permission.  It was both a catharsis and a strange sense of nothing-ness.  Like every tear she cried left her a little emptier until she was cleansed of everything else inside.

 

And now she was done.  Empty of everything, but the exhaustion seeping through her bones, weighing her down like an anchor on her heart.  Her head was filled with a strange kind of fuzzy static, which might have been worrying if Laura could be bothered to care.  No, it was strangely gratifying to not have the weight of the world on her shoulders.  She wasn’t thinking about the angry fish god.  Or her ex-girlfriend.  Or her ex-girlfriend’s murderous sister.  Or the worrisome Vordenburg and his cronies.  

 

All Laura managed to think was one singular thought.   _Bed_.  

 

And so to bed she went.  Mechanically brushing her teeth and then collapsing onto the bed face first without even bothering to change clothes.

 

She breathed in.

 

That was a mistake.

 

She hadn’t been in the bed since she and Carmilla had broken up.  Had been sleeping on the couch.  But her sleep-deprived mind had marched her here, to the first place it thought of for comfort.  And she could smell Carmilla.  Carmilla who had a tendency to sprawl out whenever she could.  Carmilla whose scent now covered the side that had been originally Laura’s.  Carmilla who still smelt troublingly like home.

 

The last thing she wanted to be doing right now was thinking about her complicated relationship with her ex.

 

She shut her eyes tightly, willing sleep to come.

 

As fate would have it, sleep eluded her.  If there was a god out there, it was mocking her.  Perhaps this was her punishment for provoking the fish god.  Despite her exhaustion, she was wide awake, breathing in the smell of Carmilla.  It unsettled her, made her feel...just _feel_.

 

She didn’t want this.  She wanted the empty oblivion of sleep.  It was just too hard to have thoughts and feelings and care about everything she needed to care about.  She wanted the sweet release of sleep, and Carmilla invading her senses was not helping at all.

 

She could hear muffled voices through the door.  She gave herself a moment of irrational anger at the noise, before realizing she couldn’t even hold on to that emotion.

 

Everything seemed to slip away in the face of her exhaustion.

 

Mercifully, the voices stopped.

 

She breathed in slowly, through her nose, and then exhaled, counting backwards from one thousand.  She tried to keep her breaths even and steady, to settle her body into sleep.

 

When she hit zero and realized she was still awake, she reluctantly moved her tired limbs up and out of bed.

 

Her feet carried her towards the main area.  She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but it certainly wasn’t her still awake ex.  The ex whose smell she’d just been trying to escape.

 

She paused, shifting slightly on her feet.  She felt the slight urge to flee, but Carmilla would have already sensed her presence.  And she wasn’t going to be a coward about this.

 

“Hey.”

 

________

 

Laura wanted desperately to go back to fifteen minutes ago where she couldn’t feel a thing.

 

Now the feelings were back and they were just too much.  Apparently 3 in the morning was honesty hour because she hadn’t meant to be so vulnerable when Carm had asked in that low, sincere tone, “do you miss me?”  But she had.  The answer just spilling out of her with no filter.

 

If it had been morning, in the bright light of day, or if Carmilla hadn’t seemed so earnest, she might have replied flippantly.  Maybe if Carmilla hadn’t had a chest wound just a few hours ago or if she hadn’t continued to defend her from her sister.  But all of that had happened.  And Carmilla was still giving up pieces of herself for Laura.  It seemed only right that Laura do the same.

 

Laura didn’t know what to do with the knowledge Carmilla had given her about Mattie as she’d turned to leave.

 

On the one hand, she was incredibly grateful.  On the other hand, Carmilla was still doing this thing where she was picking Laura over her sister.  And it _hurt_.  

 

When Carmilla was just laughing it up with Mattie, getting blood drunk and trashing the place, it was easy not to care.  It was easy to get angry.  She could be self-righteous and indignant and even hate her a little.  It was all a lie.  But the lies came easier when Carmilla wasn’t being _her_ Carmilla.  When it was just this stranger flouncing around with Mattie.

 

But this Carmilla?  The Carmilla that looked at her with the soft eyes and still called Laura hers?  Who said all these beautiful things that made Laura’s chest ache and her head spin with the severe longing to drop to her knees and beg Carmilla to try and be what she needed because it physically hurt to be apart?  Who kept trying to save Laura even when Laura wasn’t giving her anything in return?  This was the Carmilla that she had feelings for, still has feelings for.

 

It made it that much harder to pretend.

 

Laura took one look at the bed and realized she couldn’t do it.  She couldn’t sleep in the bed that still smelled like Carmilla, still reminded her so strongly of when things were good between them.

 

And somewhere in the back of her mind she didn’t think she deserved it.  Didn’t think she deserved the softness of the bed when all she’d managed to do was constantly screw everything up.

 

She also couldn’t go back out there where Carmilla was no doubt lurking.

 

She settled on the floor.

 

She wondered if Carmilla was there, just under the floorboards.  She let a solitary hand reach out, fingers splayed.  As if she could somehow feel Carmilla through the floor.  It helped to feel connected, the coolness beneath her fingers grounding her.

 

She drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

_______

 

Blood.  So much blood.

 

How could a vampire spew so much blood?  Where was it all coming from?

 

But there Carmilla was, bleeding out, her body bent at a strange angle, her eyes wide and unseeing, skin rapidly greying.  She was in the same outfit she’d been in the day that they pulled her from the pit.  But she looked so much _worse_.

 

Various implements stuck out from her body, blood spilling everywhere.  Her arms were chained somewhere above her.  Laura couldn’t see into the dark.  All she could see was Carmilla.

 

She looked like she was in so much pain.

 

Laura tried desperately to reach out, to talk to her.  But she was frozen in place.  Her limbs refused to cooperate, her voice failing her even though she needed it.

 

And then Vordenburg was standing in the background, arms crossed over his chest, smirking his victory.  

 

And then there was the Dean, glowering down at her.   _This is all your fault_.

 

And in the distance, the eerie glow of Lophiiformes.  

 

_Look at what you’ve done_ , they all seemed to say.  

 

_This is your fault_.

 

_You did this_.

 

And Laura could only watch as Carmilla slowly died on the floor.

 

The garbled words from Carmilla’s dying body rang clear through her head.

 

“L-laura.”  A gasp.  A wheeze.  “I love you.  Laura. Laura. Laura.”  And one more gasping wheeze before her body froze.

 

She watched the light fade from Carmilla’s eyes in horror.  She could do nothing to stop it.

 

_______

 

She woke screaming.

 

It took several moments for her to calm down, the tears already etching paths down her face.  She fought hard to breathe, taking gasping lungfuls of breath, her body shuddering with the effort.

 

It was only after several long moments had passed that she realized she was cradled in a warm embrace, a familiar voice speaking in low, soothing tones.

 

“It’s okay Laura.  I’ve got you.  It’s okay.”

 

Hesitantly, she turned her head upwards.  Carmilla’s eyes shone brightly in the pale moonlight, brow furrowed in concern.

 

Laura just stared at her for a moment.

 

Carmilla lifted a hesitant hand to stroke Laura’s cheek.  It was enough to break Laura from her trance and she lunged at Carmilla, wrapping her arms fiercely around the other girl.

 

“You’re alive you’re alive you’re alive.”

 

Laura was only half-aware of what she was muttering, heart thudding heavily in her chest.  All she was certain of was how _grateful_ she was that Carmilla was here, alive and not dead in a pit or with a silver tipped arrow in her.

 

Unthinkingly, she lets her hand slide to the front of Carmilla’s shirt where not too long ago there was a gaping wound.  She lets her fingers feel her way across the fabric since what’s under it is no longer hers.  Carmilla doesn’t flinch as her fingers dance across a slightly raised scar.  It’s still raised and seems delicate to the touch, but infinitely better than when it was a gaping hole.  Laura counts this as a victory.

 

When she finally comes to her senses, she’s forced to lift her head from Carmilla’s chest.  The hand Carmilla had had carding through her hair, ceases its movement.

 

Laura bites her lip.  She doesn’t want to say this.  But she doesn’t have a choice.

 

“You know this doesn’t fix anything, right?”

 

Carmilla stares at her steadily, unblinking.  But Laura can see the resignation in her eyes.  The same quiet resignation when Laura told her it was not enough.

 

“I know cupcake.”  And Laura can feel her heart breaking all over again because Carmilla had _just_ called her Laura and she had forgotten how much she loved her name falling from Carmilla’s lips.  Carmilla continues as if she hasn’t just sliced Laura open again, “But right now we both need this desperately.  So for now, we’ll take what we need.  And when tomorrow comes, we can pretend it never happened.”

 

Laura lets the weight of these words sink in.

 

It’s true.  This fixes nothing.  But Carmilla is also right that they both need this.  After the raw exchange they’d just had, and the freshness of Carmilla nearly dying or captured ( _again_ \--for a supernatural creature, Carmilla has an awful habit of almost dying), the bodily contact is something she desperately craves.  Something solid and warm to hold onto as her world tilts on its axis.

 

She wonders vaguely if she’ll hate herself more in the morning for this choice.  If it’ll be that much harder to pretend she doesn’t care when she so obviously does.

 

She shouldn’t be so attached to someone she’d dated for only a few months.  Carmilla keeps calling it love, but Laura isn’t so sure.  Love is supposed to be something beautiful and bright, a candle keeping you warm into perpetuity.  Not this.  Not this mess of pain and feelings, destroying her heart every time she thinks a little too long about it.  

 

So Laura resolutely refuses to call this _thing_ between them love.

 

It’s destructive and it’s awful and it’s tearing them both apart.  Because there’s a world of difference between _almost_ perfect and perfect.  And the chasm seems too wide to cross.

 

But whatever it is, Carmilla isn’t wrong.  Even if they’re bad for each other, even if she hates herself for it in the morning, tearing herself from Carmilla’s embrace feels like a gargantuan task that she’s just not equal to at this moment.

 

She can feel her resolve breaking already.

 

She looks up at Carmilla, who can’t quite meet her eye.

 

“Just for tonight?”

 

“Just for tonight.”

 

The two of them sink back onto the floor, gripping each other lightly.

 

Laura breathes in.  It’s still Carmilla’s scent, but somehow it isn’t the oppressiveness that she felt in the bed with all of their past exploits in its history. It’s the same scent, but somehow new as well.  Heavy with the knowledge that their past selves could not know.  Tinged with regret and the slight tang of bitterness.

 

The floor feels about right for their new relationship.  It isn’t the comfort of the bed, but rather the harshness of reality, sinking in.  But somehow, locked in each other’s embrace, it’s almost as if they can ignore the rest of the world.  

 

Laura’s thoughts steal back to a moment in time--what feels like forever ago--when Carmilla had pleaded with her.  Just for a moment to pretend they’d run away.

 

And for the first time, Laura finds herself wanting to say yes.

 

She won’t.  She’d never.  She couldn’t abandon the rest of Silas and her friends like that.  She owes them.

 

But--

 

“If you’d asked me now,” her voice is whispering across floorboards, skittering its way to Carmilla, the sound somehow amplified in the still of the night.  “If you’d asked me now to pretend for a moment that we’d run away... I would.”

 

Carmilla’s eyes are heavy with something she can’t quite identify, but she gives a little nod of acknowledgement and when she speaks, her voice is thick.

 

“We’d go to New York first.  I’ve always wanted to show you the Met.  Waltz you around to all of the great masterpieces, whispering about their history.  It would be everything I’d been looking forward to for decades and I’d spend the entire time staring at you.”

 

Laura lets her eyes drift shut as she lets herself be swept away by the soft cadence of Carmilla’s voice.

 

“More.  Please.”  It comes out as nothing more than a whimper, but Carmilla’s hold on her tightens fractionally and she keeps speaking.

 

“I’d have to take you to Paris.  City of love and all of that.  You’d drag me up the Eiffel Tower and I’d complain the whole time, but as soon as we got to the top, I’d sweep you off your feet for a dramatic Hollywood-worthy kiss.”

 

Carmilla speaks in low tones about a dozen cities she’s been to and many more that she hasn’t.  The low, soothing tone she uses never wavers.  Laura finds herself sinking into Carmilla’s words.  This is their cocoon, their refuge from the world which batters them.  And tomorrow they will be exes.  And tomorrow Carmilla will be hunted.  And tomorrow Laura will need to worry about Perry and Mattie and Vordenburg.  But for tonight.  Just for tonight.  They can pretend.

 

Pretend they’re any two other lovers.  Pretend that there isn’t this gaping chasm of clashing ideals between them.  Pretend that their love is enough.

 

And somewhere, in the space between heartbeats, Laura finally manages to fall asleep.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> from-dusk-todawn.tumblr.com


End file.
